As Mozambique enters its tenth year of peace
following a brutal and destructive civil war, the signs of continued democratic
transformation and pro-market economic reform appear rosy, at least at first
glance. Donors and the international community have quietly lauded Joaquim
Chissano's recent announcement that he is "not disposed" to seek a
third term as president of this former Portuguese colony of 17 million on the
southeast coast of Africa. Together with President Frederick Chiluba's similar
announcement in Zambia a few months ago, it looks to many like an indication
that these two African democracies are maturing and consolidating the gains
that they have made in recent years.
Mozambique's continued place atop the list
of the world's fastest-growing economies has been seen as another signal that
commitment to the "Washington Consensus" will provide the funds
required to bring infrastructure, schools, and health care to the rural
majority. It is no wonder, then, that Mozambique finds itself highlighted as a
success story for the United Nations in conflict-ridden Africa. Many credit
Mozambique's remarkable transformation to the UN's efforts to sustain the
drawn-out peace negotiations, demobilize more than 90,000 soldiers, rebuild a
unified national army, and foster the rise of a legitimate, peaceful
opposition. Donor investments continue to support Mozambique today, funding
more than half of the government's annual budget.
On the ground in Mozambique, however, the
continuation of this upward trajectory looks anything but guaranteed. The
newspapers hint at trouble just beneath the surface: two major bank failures,
the assassination of the country's most respected independent journalist, the
continued depreciation of the currency, and stop-and-start talks between the
Frente de Libertação de Moçambique (or Frelimo, as the ruling party is usually
called) and its main political rival, the Resist^encia Nacional Moçambicana (Renamo),
about how to share power at the local level. In November 2000, when police in
the city of Montepuez killed demonstrators challenging the government's claim
to have won that year's national elections, tensions nearly exploded into
large-scale violence. 1
The UN's work in Mozambique was
unprecedented in scope, and the results have been dramatic. Two consecutive
free elections and growth rates approaching 10 percent a year over the past
decade cannot be ignored. Some might argue that the items of bad news cited
above are merely "bumps on the road" toward lasting peace, as
Mozambicans of all stripes learn to resolve problems through dialogue and
democratic competition. But a deeper look at Mozambique's political and
economic situation suggests a bleaker interpretation.
The truth is that a number of deep cleavages
threaten the future of Mozambique's democratic transition. What are these
fundamental divisions? And more importantly, how can the political system be
reformed in order to prevent them from worsening or even erupting into renewed
civil war? A search for answers should begin with some basic background on
Mozambique and its troubled recent history.